I realize now that, not only am I not much of a rebel, I don't even have a long list of bad things to regret.
- I once made a guy get out of my car in the middle of nowhere and acted like I was going to drive off without him, which is pretty bad, but in my defense, the week before he said he'd teach me how to drive stick if I gave him a handjob and I still can't work a manual transmission, so fuck him. I let him back in the car eventually.
- I told the Man from GM that one of our mutual acquaintances was so bad in bed that he'd turned the other girl he was seeing--when he claimed to be seeing only me--gay, because I knew the Man from GM would go back and blab it all over his small home town and that his friends would tease him about it. She actually didn't come out of the closet until she'd worked her way through a couple of other guys I knew, but why let a minor detail like that stop me?
- I didn't speak to my college roommate for six years because she fucked a guy I liked and didn't have the guts to tell me.
- Oh, and I got this darling sparkly-stubbled man arrested. Apparently just because I think it's a good idea to drag race down Center Street from Illinois State to Illinois Wesleyan doesn't mean the Normal cops agree.
- And the Shill once had to yell at me "Pull your pants up and get in the car" when I was drunkenly showing one of her friends--and inadvertently everyone who was looking out the patio door--how much I was enjoying getting to know him.
- Okay, Miss J. and I did whip out the Bible and start reading all the passages about the ills of drinking while our other roommate (who is extremely religious) threw up in her trash can.
- And I tried to put a curse on our old landlord.
- And I accidentally had an affair with an amateur professional wrestler. But I don't think that counts, because I broke it off with him as soon as I discovered he was married.
- And I'm lying to the Butcher about our household expenses--not by much, I swear--so that I can have a little money to go out with.
- And I haven't told my parents I'm not Christian. I let them think I don't go to church as some kind of noble protest against the ways the Methodist church has done my dad wrong.
But that's it. So, you can see that my dreams of being a bad-ass are pretty far-fetched.